Cursebound
by Eledhwen
Summary: A team of marine archaeologists come across an island that's not on their map. What's the secret of the treasure they find there, and who's the mysterious stranger who says he can tell them all about it? Final chapters, 8 and 9, added! (Complete.)
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer:** anything you recognise does not belong to me, but to the Mouse House._

_**Author's note:** this is a mad, mad fic which sprang into being from pretty much nowhere. It features several original characters, who are archaeologists. I'm not an archaeologist, and my knowledge of that science is limited to bits of internet research and that wonderful programme, _Time Team_. So I've done some guesswork and some fudging, and I hope any real archaeologists out there will forgive me and maybe offer constructive criticism? Comments from readers always very gratefully received!_

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We had not expected to find an island. There was nothing on the chart – nothing but miles of blue Caribbean Sea – but yet the island was indisputably there, looming out of the water. We anchored our yacht off the rocky cliffs and lowered one of the speedboats to investigate further.

Nobody said anything as the boat crept into the largest of several cave entrances. A flashlight bounced off the walls of the cave and reflected in the dark water, and the light landed eventually on a little sandy beach. We landed, pulling up the boat.

That was when Simon exclaimed.

"Gold!" he said, pointing his light into the water. "Look!"

We looked, following the flashlight beam down into the depths. Simon was right. The seabed was covered in gold – coins, perhaps, though the detail had long since been worn away by the relentless tide. Jerry, the expedition leader, bent down and scooped up a dripping handful.

"17th century," he said, after a brief examination. "At a guess." He looked up, his eyes bright as the coins in his hand. "What have we found?"

We moved quickly now, down dark tunnels. I don't think any of us were sure what we were looking for, not exactly. Simon, our geologist, led the way. I was at the back of the group, and so it was that when the others all stopped abruptly I cannoned into them.

"What is it?"

Jerry merely moved aside, so that I could see, and like the others I stood agape at the sight before us. A cave, lit by a sunbeam shafting down on to a mountain of treasure. Coins, ornaments, jewels, precious stones, piled haphazardly in heaps.

"Bloody hell," Jerry said, eventually.

"That's one way of putting it." We fanned out into the cave, stooping to trickle the treasure through our fingers.

"Bones!" said Toni. She picked up what looked like a femur. "Old bones."

Simon straightened from a partially-submerged heap. "There's an entire skeleton here, Tone."

We hastened across to him, and gathered around the skeleton. The clothes had disintegrated years before, but bits of metal – buckles, rings, a necklace – hung on the bones yet. The ribs were cracked over the heart, and delving between them Toni pulled out a deformed wad of lead.

"He was shot. Once. Point-blank range."

"I wonder who he was?" I said, aloud. The others turned to me. Simon was smiling.

"Ever the people person, Becks," he said.

"I'm an anthropologist," I pointed out, reasonably enough. "How old do you think he might me, Toni?"

She was crouched by the skeleton, examining it with gloved hands. "Three centuries? Judging by the buckles, and the state of the bones. I'll have to do some proper tests back on board – can we take it back?" she asked, looking up at Jerry.

"Have to get permission from the authorities first," he said. "But yeah, sure." He pointed. "Look, the guy had a cutlass too."

"There must have been a fight," I said, picturing it in my mind. "If he was shot, someone shot him." I began to pick around, searching for more clues. There were another two swords by the water's edge, rather rusty.

"What's in that chest?" Simon asked, pointing. I followed his finger to the top of the steepest pile of treasure, where a heavy stone chest sat illuminated by the sun. We climbed, with difficulty, up to it, and stood looking down at it for a moment.

The chest was elaborately carved with symbols that, at first glance, appeared to be of South American Indian origin – probably Aztec, I thought, running a careful finger along the carvings. A thick lid covered it, and a layer of dust covered that.

"Shall we?" said Simon, less interested than I in the decorations.

I nodded, and together we pushed the lid open.  
  
We gaped. Underneath the stone and the dust, the gold shone brilliantly. A chest full of gold coins, each emblazoned with a grinning skull. I ran a hand over the surface.

"Aztec," I said, sure now. "Aztec gold."

"How much?" Simon questioned, his fingers hovering as if to take a coin.

"Who knows?" My fingers hit something that wasn't metal, and I picked out a slender knife. "Oh."

Together we examined the tool. It appeared to be made of bone, ancient and fragile, and the edge was darkened with an old stain.

"Blood," said Simon, his voice thrilling with excitement.

"I think …" I frowned down at the chest. "I think we should leave this as it is until we can come back."

Simon folded his arms. "Why, Rebecca?"

"I don't know." I shrugged. "I just … I have a feeling. Anyway, we need to find out who this place belongs to, and get permission to work here. We can't just go lifting Aztec gold willy-nilly."

"Becks is right," Jerry said, coming up behind Simon. "As you know, Murphy. Let's get some shots and then let's go and report this place."

We spent an hour or so carefully taking photographs, trying not to disturb anything further, and recording what we'd found. Toni and I estimated there were five or six skeletons in the cave, but only one of them was intact. The rest were scattered, in pieces amongst the treasure. As for the treasure itself, it ranged from the chest of Aztec gold to pieces of china and ornaments clearly of European origin; most of it evidently chosen for its gaudiness rather than pure value. I was hopeful that it would turn out to be a pirate or privateer's hoard, one of the many undiscovered treasure troves of the Caribbean.

Back on the yacht, we were all in high spirits. Jerry sat down immediately to send an email to our base in Kingston, and Simon broached a bottle of rum. "Just in case we have found a pirate's cave!" he said, grinning. "Seems suitable to celebrate with rum."

We drank, and talked of the unexpected island and the miraculous find. That night I dreamt of gold and silver and jewels, of flickering torchlight on bright metal, and of blood on bone.

In Kingston, we reported the find to the authorities and settled impatiently to waiting for their response. We wanted to go back and investigate the site properly, with dating tools and permission to take bones and other items from the cave. But such bureaucracy takes time in any country, and still more in laid-back Jamaica, and so we were forced to kill time planning the proposed expedition.

It was three days later, as Toni and I sat in a beachfront restaurant eating lunch and discussing the possible provenance of the skeletons in the cave, that things took a turn towards the bizarre. We had a sketched plan of the cave laid out on the table, weighed down with salt cellars and a Caribbean guide book, and were little concerned with those around us. It was only when the waiter arrived with our salads and I leaned back that I noticed the man watching us.

In hindsight, it was absurd not to have noticed him before. Even in colourful Jamaica, he stood out, dressed as he was in a tattered turquoise shirt with his braided and beaded hair hanging down to his shoulders. He was smoking comfortably, his legs crossed in front of him; and he was watching Toni and I with an alert, intelligent gaze.

I looked away, not wanting to stare, yet from then on I was conscious of his eyes on our backs. He waited until we had finished our meal and the waiter had cleared the plates before standing, stubbing out his cigarette and coming over to us.

"Ladies."

We looked up. He smiled, a smile full of gold teeth.

"Ladies, I couldn't help but notice the map you had out earlier."

Toni glanced at me, her expression asking clearly what I thought we should do about the stranger. I shrugged.

"Plan of a cave, or somesuch, wasn't it?" His hand sketched a circle in the air.

"That's right." I looked up at him from behind my sunglasses. "Can we help you?"

"I'd like a look, if it ain't too much trouble."

Unrolling the plan, Toni spread it out on the table, and the man thanked her with a nod that was almost a bow, and bent over it. He looked at it intently for a moment, a little half-smile hovering on his lips, and nodded.

"Isla de Muerte."

"I'm sorry?"

He looked back at me with very direct dark eyes. "Isla de Muerte, love. The island that can't be found, except by them that know where to find it." A pause. "But you found it?"

Toni sat back in her seat. "We came across an island that wasn't on our map. Are you saying you know of it?"

"I know of it." The stranger did not sound particularly happy about the fact. "Tell me, ladies – you didn't by any chance see a stone chest, in that cave, did you?"

"The one with Aztec carvings?"

"Aye, that one." His gaze bore into mine. "_Please_ tell me you didn't take a coin from that chest? That you left it as it was?"

I shook my head. "We left it." I frowned at him. "Why? Who are you? How do you know about this place – it's the biggest historical find in the Caribbean for decades! It needs properly investigating. But nobody else knows about it?"

The man smiled again, and pulled up a chair. Sitting down without asking our permission, he leant his elbows on the chair arms and put his fingertips together.

"It's like this," he began.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1  
_

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"The man who first told me about the Isla de Muerte," the stranger said, "was an old man in a tavern. Dunno who he was, or where he'd come from, but he knew me and he knew I'd be snared by the tale of Cortés's treasure. He span me his yarn, told me about the island you can't find 'cept when you know where it is."

"Wait." I leaned forward. "_Cortés's_ treasure? _The_ Cortés?"

"The one who slaughtered the Aztecs, aye, that's the one." He flicked a hand covered in silver rings. "So there I was, and this old man gives me an old compass and says, 'follow that compass, Captain Sparrow, and you'll find treasure beyond your wildest dreams'."

Toni and I exchanged glances. "Captain Sparrow? That's you?" I asked.

"Jack Sparrow," he said. "I s'pose you could say I'm a captain, still, though at the moment me and my ship are lacking a crew." He paused. "Back then, it was easier to pick up a crew. I found the men and we set sail. Only me mate Barbossa decided he'd have a share in what I knew, and mutinied a week out of port. Marooned me on a measly spit o' sand."

"Marooned?" Toni mouthed at me.

Our companion, Jack Sparrow, lifted an eyebrow at us. "I know what you're thinking, love," he said. "Folk don't mutiny these days, or maroon. Bide your time and I'll get to that part of the story."

The waiter went past, and Sparrow stopped him and ordered a glass of beer. This gave me a chance to consider the stranger. His unusual appearance tallied with oddities in his manner and speech – for all he looked like a sixties reject, the way he spoke rang of a much earlier time. His accent reminded me a little of home, echos of London in the vowels, but only a little. And if his eyes had not been so clear and direct, I would have sworn he was drunk from the way he ran words together.

"Took me ten years to find my ship again," Jack Sparrow went on. "Ten years. But I did, eventually, and I tracked Barbossa down." His hand fluttered. "And I shot 'im, one shot sweet as you like in his heart. After that …" he paused, and smiled a glittering smile at us, "after that I got my ship back."

We looked at each other, and back at Jack Sparrow. He had lit another cigarette and was leaning back smoking it contentedly.

"Let me get this straight," I said. "You had a ship. Then your crew mutinied and marooned you. Eventually you found the mutineers and shot the leader?"

"Could put it that way," Sparrow agreed. "O'course, there's a bit I missed." He ground out the cigarette. "The gold of the Isla de Muerte is cursed, savvy? When Barbossa and his band of scurvy knaves got there and took it, they were condemned to a worthless existence. Undead. Empty vessels. To win back my ship, they needed to lift the curse." Fiddling with a ring, he met my eyes. "But before they did, I took a coin from that stone chest. For ten minutes, I was immortal. Couldn't be killed. And those ten minutes, they haunted me. Couldn't stop thinkin' about them, even when I was out at sea with my _Pearl_."

Toni raised an eyebrow.

"The _Black Pearl_," explained Jack Sparrow. "My ship. The loveliest and the fastest to ever sail these waters. Long since dead, may Neptune look after her."

Watching him, I sensed real regret and sorrow, but Sparrow did not let the moment linger. He shrugged, and carried on.

"That treasure haunted me. 'Bout ten years after I'd killed Barbossa and got the _Pearl_ back, we ran into a spot of bad luck. The Navy got hold of some of me crew, and hung them, and I realised I didn't want to die. So …" he shrugged, "I went back to the Isla de Muerte, and I took a coin from that chest." Jack Sparrow looked at us with those dark eyes. "Which is why," he said, "I hope you left it be. 'Cos immortality isn't really all it's cracked up to be."

"We didn't touch it," I said. "Well, we didn't take anything." I glanced at Toni. "Mr Sparrow, will you excuse us a moment?"

Toni followed me away from the table, and leaned on a railing looking down into the turquoise water below. "Well?" she asked.

"This man's either insane," I said, "or he's not. And if he's not, then he's a killer. He says he shot a man."

"What do you think?" Toni questioned. "You're the people person."

I considered, glancing back to where Jack Sparrow was toying with his beer. "I don't think he's mad," I said, slowly. "I think he tries to make people think he's mad, but he's not."

"So he shot a man," she said, running a finger along the grain of the railing. "The question is, when? Is he trying to cover something up by spinning us this crazy story about a curse?"

"Or …" I tailed off, and laughed. "No, the other option really is mad."

"I vote we ask him, see what he says," Toni suggested. "Got nothing to lose."

We went back to the table, and sat. Jack Sparrow swallowed a mouthful of beer and put his glass carefully down.

"Let me guess," he said. "You've decided I'm barking."

I shook my head. "For the moment, no."

He regarded me with a quizzical glint deep in those dark eyes. "Most people would have gone running for the blokes in white coats by now," he said. "Why haven't you?"

"I'm an anthropologist," I explained. "I study …"

"People, aye." I must have looked surprised, because Jack Sparrow smiled. "I know what an anthropologist is, love. Folk always called me daft, but I'm not. And you know I'm not."

I leaned on the table. "To be frank, Mr Sparrow, I'm not sure what to believe."

"I'm tellin' the truth."

"I'd like to think so," I said, "but really – curses, and being marooned? It's like _Treasure Island_."

He smiled again, a brief upward turn of the lips. "Ah, old Stevenson. I always liked his tales."

"But they were just that, tales," I pointed out. "You're asking us to believe you." I paused, before soldiering on. "And besides: marooning and mutinies don't happen these days."

"You'd be surprised," Sparrow returned. "But aye, not so much."

"So?" I said. "You've spun us your yarn, Mr Sparrow, but let's have some facts. We're scientists, Toni and I. We deal in facts. When did all this take place?"

"Well," he said, slowly, "most of it happened before the quake that sank Port Royal … I must've gone back to the island some three years after that. Been a while."

Toni was shaking her head. "The Port Royal earthquake was in 1692."

"Was that the date? I never can recall."

"Three hundred years!" Toni said.

I said nothing. I watched Jack Sparrow as he let his words sink into our mind. He was picking at his nails with a toothpick, thick dark locks falling over his eyes. Utterly calm and composed, very much the master of himself and, I think, of the situation. He was clearly rather enjoying himself, enjoying telling his outrageous story and enjoying the reaction he was getting.

"Tell me something about this Barbossa," I said, slowly. "What was he wearing, the day he died?"

Jack Sparrow looked up at me, his face utterly serious.

"Clever girl," he said. "But how do you know I remember?"

"Events like that mark a person," I returned. "Not something you'll forget. Even in three centuries."

He nodded. "Aye, you're right. He had his hat on. Big daft thing with a floppy brim, an' a feather in it. That won't have lasted. Belt for his sword, plus an ordinary belt, so there'll be buckles. Rings on his fingers." He waggled his own be-ringed hands in the air. "He wore a necklace, too. Gaudy thing, it was." Sparrow raised his eyebrows at me. "Did I pass?"

Toni was leafing through her notes, and she nodded. Jack Sparrow looked pleased with himself.

"But anyone could have guessed all that," Toni pointed out, laying down her notebook. "Standard wear for a seventeenth-century man. Sailor. Whatever."

"Pirate," said Jack Sparrow.

We stared at him.

"Hadn't you worked that out?" he said, his eyes dancing. "Barbossa and me and me crew – we were pirates."

"Well … we'd hoped the cave was a pirate hoard," I said. "But …"

Jack Sparrow stood up. "I reckon I've got some stuff you ladies would be int'rested in. Back on my boat."

Toni started to roll up the plan.

"Boat?" I asked.

"You might say I'm still a pirate," Sparrow said. "Those I rob now are gullible tourists. Lure 'em on board, take 'em for a sail, charge 'em plenty over the odds for the privilege." He grinned. "Things ain't changed that much in three hundred years. She's moored in the marina. Shall we?"

I felt a rush of excitement run through me. This man intrigued me. I wanted to know more. I nodded.

"Let's."

Tucking the plan under her arm, Toni nodded.

"Lead on, Mr Sparrow," I said.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

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He led us, walking with a strange rolling gait, to the marina. There, amongst the glistening white pleasure-boats (the local fishing boats were moored in a neighbouring harbour) was a wooden yacht in pristine condition. Her sails were furled tidily, and her woodwork shone. Jack Sparrow looked over his shoulder at us, his eyes full of pride.

"Lovely, ain't she? She's called _Anamaria_. After one of me old crewmates." He stepped nimbly across the gangplank, a hand caressing the rail. "Come aboard."

We followed him aboard, our feet less steady than his on the deck. Sparrow adjusted a knot, touched the wheel near the stern, and squinted up at the top of the mast before he turned back to us.

"There's a few guys who help out when we go to sea," Sparrow said. "They're not here at the moment. Slow tourist season."

He jumped down into the cabin well and opened a low door that evidently led below the deck. "Comin'?" he asked.

Toni muttered something about being in too far already. She looked distinctly unhappy about the whole affair – she has always been more inclined to dismiss wild theories quickly than me, and I think the weirdness of Jack Sparrow and the craziness of his stories were getting to her. Nevertheless, she came after me as I ducked my head and went through the door.

There was a short, steep ladder leading down into the cabin, and I took that with care before straightening and looking about me.

It was like walking into an antiques shop, an antiques shop with a very eccentric owner. The place was filled with oddities, from silver plates to old books to bits of seafaring gear. Sparrow was nowhere to be seen, but his voice drifted through from further into the cabin.

"Poke around," he called.

Toni and I looked at each other, and began to poke. Soon we were holding items out to each other, exclaiming over them, and guessing their age. I discovered a very pretty necklace that was almost certainly Georgian; Toni was in raptures over a book full of botanical engravings.

There was a low laugh from the doorway. "Pinched that from some merchant," Jack Sparrow said.

I turned, and gaped, for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon. He had got rid of the jeans and bright shirt he had been wearing earlier, replacing them with a billowy off-white shirt, trousers to the knee, and a headscarf tied around his head keeping most of the wild locks off his face. He looked like a stereotypical pirate from the stories.

"Is this for our benefit?" Toni asked, putting the book back on its shelf.

"Have you ever tried to care for a boat in jeans?" Sparrow returned. "Stupid bloody things they are. Too constricting." He came up to us, and began to rummage in one of the drawers set into the cabin wall. "Aha. Here we go." He produced a small square box attached to a slender chain. The box was battered, the leather stained with salt marks. It was clearly very old.

Jack Sparrow held it out to me. "Go on," he said. "Take it."

I took the box, and cautiously opened the lid. Inside was a compass, the needle swinging wildly before settling, steady. I looked up.

"Well?"

"Oh, bloody landlubbers!" Sparrow exclaimed. He took my shoulder and steered me to one of the little windows looking out at the harbour. "That, love, is north."

"Right."

He pointed at the compass. "That's where the needle should be pointin'."

"But it's not."

"Aye, it's not. That's because that compass points to the Isle de Muerte, savvy?"

"Oh." I looked down at it. "I see." I gave him the thing back. "Savvy? Unusual way of using that word."

"It's been corrupted," Sparrow said, tucking the compass in a pocket. "Nobody uses it like that these days." He flicked a hand at me. "But you're gettin' off the point. The point is, I was telling you about that compass a short bit ago. That very compass, ladies, is the one I was given by the old man in the tavern. And …" he paused, and hunted through another drawer, "this is the pistol I shot Barbossa with."

In one smooth movement his hand came out of the drawer grasping an ornate, heavy pistol; he cocked it and aimed it roughly at my chest. I froze. Toni gasped.

Jack Sparrow laughed, and lowered the weapon. "It's not loaded. Can't find the shot for it these days. 'Sides, your modern pistols are far more efficient." He turned the butt towards Toni. "Want to look, Miss …?" He raised an eyebrow, and I realised that neither of us had introduced ourselves.

"She's Toni Gutzmann," I said. "My name's Rebecca Morrison."

"Fellow Brit," he said.

"I thought so!" I was pleased with myself. "London?"

"Portsmouth," Sparrow said, "but I've been about. Don't reckon I'd recognise the old place if I went back there now."

"It's still a port," I pointed out. "Ferries to France, Navy ships."

"Not home, though." He shrugged. "So what're you doing in the Caribbean?"

I leaned against a wall. "We're part of an archaeological expedition. We're looking for wrecks, treasure, that sort of thing. I suppose we're trying to find out more about the age of the pirates."

"It was bloody," he said, his voice low and serious. "Every man for himself. Debauched, some would call it. Bein' a pirate, it's like a drug. It's dangerous, and it'll most likely kill you, but you can't stop."

"It didn't kill you," I pointed out.

"I was lucky," Sparrow said. "Men sailed with me because they thought I was lucky."

"Were you?" Toni asked.

He grinned, and his gold teeth caught the light from the portholes. "A bit." His hands fluttered again – I was becoming used to these mannerisms, and wondered if they were perhaps some sort of displacement activity, designed to distract the listener. "A bit. But a man makes his own luck, don't you reckon?"

Toni crossed to him. "May I see the pistol?"

Sparrow favoured her with a leer, but when she hesitated he laughed and dropped the attitude. "Of course." He held the weapon out, butt first, and Toni took it and began to examine it closely. She peered down the barrel and caressed the trigger finger. Watching her, I smiled. Toni had always had a yen for old weapons – pistols, rifles, swords, knives. Her fascination was completely at odds with her cautious nature, though utterly in line with her profession.

Jack Sparrow looked up from watching Toni, and caught my eye. He regarded me, that devilish smile playing on his lips, for a few moments, but said nothing.

Toni handed the pistol back. "It's lovely." She paused, and fidgeted. "I don't suppose … do you have a cutlass?"

"Aye, I do." Sparrow reached up and opened another cupboard, extracting a long thing box from which he took a bright, beautifully-cared for sword. His hand grasped the hilt with what looked like long practice; he turned the blade with a flourish and presented it to Toni.

Her eyes shone as she accepted the sword and squinted along the blade.

"Can you use it?" Sparrow asked, his arms folded.

"No." Toni's cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment as she passed the sword back to its owner. "I'm really clumsy."

"Jerry can, though," I put in. "He's a champion fencer."

"Who's Jerry?"

"Expedition leader," said Toni.

Jack Sparrow raised his eyebrows, clearly interested. "Hmm," he said, putting the sword away.

When the cupboard was closed, he turned back to us. "Let's go up on deck," he said. "I've a proposition for you."

We followed him back on deck, where he settled himself on top of the cabin, one wrist resting loosely on an upraised knee.

"It's like this," he said. "When you go back to Muerte, you take me with you. Or rather, I'll take you, because I won't leave _Ana_." He patted the cabin roof. "You need me. I know that island better than any other man. And I know these waters better than any other man. Been sailin' 'em long enough."

"It's … it's not really our call," I said. "It's Jerry's. And we do have to get permission first."

He waved that away. "Live dangerously, love. But the thing is, you've gone and told the whole bleeding world about the island. Folk'll be flocking to it, looking for a bite of the treasure."

"You guess?" Toni said, doubtful.

"I _know_," said Jack Sparrow. "Treasure does that. Once people know about it, they won't leave it be. And they're welcome to it, but not the gold. Not the gold. It's dangerous, that gold. I saw what it did to Barbossa, and I know what it's done to me." A shadow crossed his face. "I'm not letting that be unleashed on the world."

I shrugged. "Like I said, Mr Sparrow, it's Jerry's call really. I know we'd all like to go back and investigate properly. But we really must have permission."

"Then when you get it," he said, his dark eyes meeting mine with all seriousness," come here. _Ana_ and me won't be goin' anywhere. Come and get me – savvy?"

I nodded. "All right, then. Savvy."

Jack Sparrow grinned. "Good."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

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Toni and I went back to the house we had rented in silence, each occupied with our own thoughts. I was mulling over the afternoon's events and the unexpected meeting with Jack Sparrow. I suspect Toni was too.

Neither of us said anything of note until after we had both showered and were sitting in the airy lounge, waiting for Jerry and Simon to return. I was making notes of the day; Toni was filing her nails. After a few moments of silence, she looked up.

"Becks?"

"What?"

"Do you think he's cute?"

I put down my pen. "Who?"

"Him." Toni blushed, furiously. "Jack Sparrow."

I considered the matter. "I suppose you could say he's good-looking. Cute – maybe not. But he must be in his forties."

"I'm 38," pointed out Toni, reasonably. "Forties is good." She filed another nail. "But I guess he's crazy, huh? Wrong kind of guy to have the hots for."

"It's the danger aspect," I said. "It's easy to be attracted to a dangerous man. Even if he does have those nasty dreadlock things. What's wrong with short hair?"

"Is he dangerous?" Toni wanted to know.

"I think he could be," I said. "I still don't think he's mad. Not that he's entirely sane, either, but who is?"

"Who is what?" Jerry and Simon came back, lugging carrier bags of groceries and the files they had been working on during the day. Simon began to empty the bags, producing fresh fruit and vegetables and some fish and starting to prepare them in the open-plan kitchen at the end of the room.

Toni and I told the story, starting from the beginning, giving a description of Jack Sparrow and his boat and telling his tale. At the end Jerry and Simon exchanged glances. Jerry sat down.

"He doesn't sound cute, Toni," he said gently. "He sounds …"

"Stark raving mad," offered Simon, throwing vegetables into a pan and beginning to stir them vigorously. "Curses? Three centuries? It's not possible." He waved his wooden spoon in the air. "He's a loony. We're better off staying away from him."

"And we have a yacht," Jerry added. "We know how to get back to that island."

Toni looked down at her hands, and nodded. "Yeah."

I looked from one to the other. Simon was adding fish to the vegetables now, and the room was filled with the aroma of cooking. My stomach rumbled.

"He intrigues me, that's all," I said, guessing that neither of the men would consider the possibility of taking Jack Sparrow along with us – not that evening, at any rate.

"Everyone intrigues you," Jerry said, affectionately.

"So how was your day?" I asked, changing the subject.

They were off, on a long-winded tale of bureaucracy and museums and libraries and getting lost in Kingston that went on even as Simon served up a delicious fish curry. I did not mention Jack Sparrow again that night, and nor did Toni. But once I was alone in my room I finished my notes on the man, including a long list of questions I was dying to ask him.

I dreamed again during the night. Strange dreams always seem to plague me on expeditions, when my mind is full of unanswered queries, mysteries that need solving. I dreamed of Jack Sparrow, but not the Sparrow we had met that day. The man in my dream had eyes lined in black, and he stood at the wheel of a great black pirate ship whilst the cannon fired and blood ran across the deck.

In the morning, over breakfast, Jerry had a call from the captain of the expedition yacht that rather turned things upside down. He put the phone down looking miserable.

"The engine's failed."

"What?"

Jerry sat down at the dining table and picked at his croissant. "That was Mick. He said that the yacht's engine won't start. And there doesn't seem to be any chance of it getting fixed before next week."

"Damn!" Simon poured coffee. "Now what do we do?"

Toni caught my eye. I shrugged, and watched the swirl of bubbles on the surface of my coffee dissipate.

"Becks?" asked Jerry.

He knew me too well.

"There is … there's Jack Sparrow," I said. "At least come and meet him. He has a boat. He said he'd take us."

"I bet he costs a bloody fortune," said Simon.

"He is a pirate," I returned.

After breakfast we gathered our things together, and set off down to the marina. Simon and Jerry were still grumbling, but I could sense that they were still not sold on the concept of Jack Sparrow. I wasn't sure that they would be sold on the concept of Jack Sparrow once they had met him, but it was worth trying.

We arrived alongside the _Anamaria_ a short while later. She looked neat and peaceful in the morning light, all her brasswork gleaming, and the men eyed her and seemed fairly impressed.

"Does it have an engine?" Simon asked. "Not that the sails aren't pretty, but I can't imagine they'd go very fast."

"_She_ has an engine, but it's for calms only." Jack Sparrow emerged from the cabin, back in ordinary clothes, and folded his arms. "Ever seen a tall ship under full sail, mate? Her canvas filled with the wind, and her lines taut? The waves foam under her prow and she races along." He grinned, cheerfully, and stepped nimbly down the gangplank. "One of you'll be Jerry."

"That's me," said Jerry.

"Jack Sparrow," our pirate said, not offering to shake hands. "So, Miss Morrison, you've persuaded your colleagues to take me up on my offer?"

"Our yacht is broken," Jerry said, a little flatly.

"Problem with engines," Jack Sparrow returned. "No matter. I'll take you to the island."

"What do you want from us?" asked Simon. His stance was defensive, somehow: something about Sparrow clearly irritated him. I think Sparrow saw it too, because he grinned that insouciant, insolent grin again.

"Well, if you can see your way to payin'," he said, "it's not like I'd be complaining. But mostly," the grin disappeared, replaced with utter and sincere seriousness, "I want to make sure you don't touch what you shouldn't."

"What shouldn't we touch?" Simon again.

Sparrow came very close to Simon, certainly coming into my colleague's personal space. Simon leaned back; Sparrow leaned forward.

"Aztec gold. 881 pieces of it. Not to be touched."

He raised his eyebrows at Simon, who stepped backwards, clearly irritated.

"It's treasure trove," he snapped. "It'll belong to whatever state owns that land, and we'll get some for our research. Who are you to decide what gets touched and what doesn't?"

The grin went abruptly from Jack Sparrow's face, and instead of looking innocuous and a bit daft he suddenly looked extremely dangerous. It was as if a different person looked out from behind those dark eyes.

"Me?" he said, softly. "Once upon a time, that question would have had you at the point of my sword. My name was feared across the Caribbean. Grown men quaked when they saw my ship."

"You're utterly mad," said Simon, disdainfully. He turned away.

Jerry folded his arms. "We can pay you, if you can get us and our equipment there. How much would you charge?"

"How much would you pay?"

Jerry looked at us. I shrugged.

"Hundred dollars a day," Jerry said.

"Two." Jack Sparrow settled himself back against a bollard.

"One twenty," offered Jerry.

"One eighty." Sparrow was calm and nonchalant, evidently a seasoned bargainer.

Toni glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.

"One fifty," Jerry tried.

"One …" Sparrow stopped, and catching Jerry's expression laughed. "Nah, s'alright, mate, I'll take one fifty. It's a bargain. We'll get there faster with _Ana_ than you would have done with your yacht."

Jerry smiled, relieved, and the two men shook hands. They began to talk logistics – how soon our stuff could be got aboard, when we could leave, whether any crew were needed.

At the end of the pier, Simon was standing staring out to sea. He looked round as I came up, and then turned his eyes back to the horizon.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"What's the matter?!" he exclaimed. "Bloody hell, Becks, how could you possibly think that man is sane? He's rude, he's unpleasant, and he's totally bonkers!"

"I really don't think he is," I said, trying to calm Simon down. "Look, you're good with rocks, Simon, but people? Not your strong point. He's just playing to what annoys you."

Simon grunted.

"Anyway, Jerry agreed a price," I told him. "If we get the go-ahead, then we're sailing with Jack Sparrow."

"Great." Simon looked round at me. "I'll tell you one thing. Even if Toni thinks he's cute – it's me and Jerry who'll have to watch out. That man doesn't bat for the same team as me."

I shook my head. "I hate that expression. But again, I think you're wrong. You didn't see him leering yesterday."

"Oh, come on," Simon said. "What about those gestures?" He did a short and bad impression of Jack Sparrow's fluttering hands. "He's crazy, and he doesn't go for girls."

I took his arm. "Come on. We have lots to do."

Jerry was finishing his talk with Sparrow as I towed Simon back to the _Anamaria_. Sparrow looked keenly at me, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

"So, we'll load this afternoon?" Jerry said.

"Four on the dot," Sparrow agreed. "See you then."

Jerry nodded, and went off after Toni and Simon. Jack Sparrow rested a hand on the slender rope railing of his boat's gangplank.

"Your friend Simon doesn't like me," he said.

"Er … no," I admitted.

"Well, he ain't the first," Sparrow returned, cheerfully enough. "Just tell him, love, that I don't care what he thinks of me – but aboard my boat, he'd better do what I ask him to do. I won't suffer fools lightly. Savvy?"

"I'll tell him."

"Good lass."

I turned to go, but hesitated. "Mr Sparrow?"

"Aye?"

"What went wrong with the engine of our yacht?"

He raised his eyebrows, and cocked his head at me. "Doesn't concern me, if it doesn't have sails," he said. "Haven't a clue what you're talking about."

I considered him for a few seconds, before shaking my head and hurrying off after the others.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

----

We set sail four days later on the morning tide, having finally got the permission and papers we needed and having loaded up the boat. Jack Sparrow, after he had considered our complete lack of sailing credentials, had hired a crewmember to help him manage the _Anamaria_. Tall and lanky, Milton ("call me Mil") was a calm, quiet presence on board and I liked him the moment I met him. I thought he would probably be a useful counterpoint to Sparrow and his unpredictable moods.

The four of us sat on deck as Jack Sparrow and Mil took the boat out of the harbour. Sparrow was at the wheel – or the helm, as he called it – and Mil was tugging on various ropes to ensure the white sails were filled with wind. As we headed into open sea, even Simon was forced to admit that the little boat had some speed. Her prow forged through the water and a long, straight wake stretched out behind us.

Sparrow gave the helm over to Mil, and came across to us where we sat on the cabin roof. I saw now that his strange rolling gait on land was perfectly suited to the rocking motion of the vessel at sea, and indeed he did not seem to need the support of any railings or ropes as he made his way over the deck.

"Well?" he said, perching rather precariously on the slender rope that acted as a sort of guard between deck and sea.

"It's good to be off," said Jerry.

Sparrow nodded. "Aye, it is. There's only so much land a man can take."

"Huh," grunted Simon, scorn in his expression and tone.

Our captain sent an equally expressive look back in Simon's direction, and then glanced up at the top of the mast.

"Line there could be tightened. Shout if you need anything." He nodded, and was off up the mast looking like nothing so much as a monkey. All he needed was a tail.

We spent the rest of that morning below decks, going over our maps and charts and planning what to do once we arrived at the island. By the afternoon, we were all fed up of paper, and after eating we went back on deck and sunbathed with books. Now and again I looked up to see Jack Sparrow watching us with half a smile playing on his lips.

I slept well that first night, rocked by the gentle motion of the waves as the _Anamaria_ beat her way onwards towards the island. Occasionally I woke, and was aware of footsteps on the deck above: Jack Sparrow, keeping watch.

But he was up in the morning, in a change of shirt but otherwise looking just as he had before. He greeted me cheerfully enough, flicking a cigarette butt neatly over the side of the boat.

"Where's Mil?" I asked, stretching.

"Catching some sleep," said Sparrow. "Where's your mates?"

"Still sleeping," I returned. "I'm going to get breakfast. Want anything?"

"No." He shook his head with a jangle of beads. "No, thanks." He nodded, and went back to the helm.

Mil and the others emerged an hour or so later, Mil taking over control of the boat from his captain. Sparrow tightened a few ropes, his hand stroking bits of his vessel gently.

Toni watched him dreamily.

"Sleep well?" I asked.

"Mmm."

I hit her, gently. "Snap out of it, Toni."

"Has he done something to his eyes?" she asked, still gazing.

I paid attention to Sparrow, and realised Toni was right. He had done something to his eyes.

"Eyeliner," muttered Simon, trying to haul a bucket of seawater up to throw over himself as a sort of shower.

"Kohl," said Jack Sparrow, taking the rope of the bucket from Simon. He filled it and jerked it up and over the other man in one easy motion. "Keeps the glare off."

"The desert nomads use it," I remembered.

"Aye, that's right." Sparrow threw Simon a towel. "Back in the old days we didn't have such things as sunglasses; and anyway, they've a mind to fall off. An old woman in Casablanca sold me kohl when I was but a lad, and I've kept on using it."

"Eyeliner," Simon repeated, rubbing himself down with the towel.

Our pirate caught my eye and I bit my lip to stifle a giggle.

Jerry came up on deck, pulling a t-shirt on, and Sparrow greeted him cheerfully.

"Morning, mate."

"Good morning," said Jerry. "Where are we?"

"On our way," Sparrow said, taking out his ancient battered compass and glancing at it briefly. "Under a bit of a calm, but the wind'll pick up this afternoon." He met Jerry's eyes. "Rebecca here said you fenced."

"A bit," said Jerry, bashfully.

"He's won competitions," I corrected. "He's really good."

"I'm okay," Jerry said.

"Fancy a match?" asked Sparrow, watching Jerry hopefully with what was clearly his best 'innocent' look.

"But we're at sea," objected Simon.

"I had noticed," Sparrow said. "But how d'you think we managed when we were raidin' ships, mate? I've drawn swords on men in a near-storm. This little calm is nothing." He turned his attention back to Jerry. "What say you?"

"We really ought to be heading to the island with all speed," Jerry said, hesitating.

"Tell you what." Jack Sparrow leaned forward to emphasise his point. "You grant me the pleasure of this match, and I'll turn on the engine once we're done. We'll race to Muerte then. Just one match."

Jerry paused a moment longer, but I knew he'd give in. He nodded. "Go on, then, you've persuaded me. I take it you have some blades?"

"Below." Sparrow disappeared to fetch them. Jerry began to stretch his legs and arms, throwing in a few experimental lunges.

"I guess this is where we find out if he's been telling the truth," he said, after a moment. "If he can fight on this rocky little boat, maybe …" he frowned. "I don't think I can."

Toni curled her legs underneath her. "You'll be great."

After a short while, Jack Sparrow emerged holding two swords. One was the beautiful, shining blade he had shown Toni and myself earlier in the week. He passed that one to Jerry, who took it reverently and tested the weight.

"This is … this is a beautiful sword!" he exclaimed.

"Made by a friend of mine," Sparrow said. "He was a blacksmith: thought he'd make me a handy gift. I never used the thing. Way too good for everyday use."

"I'm rather inclined to agree," said Jerry.

Twisting his blade in his hand, Sparrow lifted it. "Now this is more like it. Old, but still good."

The sword did look old – the grip was worn, and the hilt was darkened and dull. But the blade itself shone with care and attention and use. Jack Sparrow handled it like an extension of his arm.

"Well then," said Jerry, turning his sword, "_en garde_?"

Sparrow attacked. Jerry parried, their blades clashing. "What happened to _en garde_?" asked Jerry, stepping backwards.

"Pirate?" said Sparrow, his sword twisting in towards Jerry's side.

"I'd call it …" Jerry managed to side-step the blow, "cheating."

And so the fight was joined. It was impressive to watch. Jerry fought like the fencer he was, one arm tucked neatly behind his back and his weight constantly forward on his front foot. Sparrow fought like a dancer, all powerful fluid motions that were full of grace. It was clear, even to us three novices, that Sparrow was the better swordsman. He had a freedom of movement Jerry lacked. Where our colleague jabbed in his thrusts, Sparrow darted in and dashed back, his blade flicking through the air with precise skill.

Whether or not he was a pirate, Sparrow was also more sure-footed on the gently moving deck. Once or twice I was sure Jerry was going to fall and break something, or stab himself by accident, but somehow he never did. In actual fact he was managing rather well; but he was outclassed and he knew it.

Eventually, as the point of Jack Sparrow's sword got past Jerry's guard, and came to rest just over his opponent's breastbone, Jerry raised his hands.

"Okay, I give in. You're too good."

Sparrow stepped back, lowering his sword.

"You're none too bad yourself, mate."

"Flatterer." Jerry wiped his brow with his t-shirt. "Hell, it's hot. No really, you're too good for me. But you're not a fencer. Wherever you learnt to fight, you learned how to defend yourself, not how to get points in a competition."

"Silly idea," said Sparrow. "Why do that?"

"Some people find it fun," Jerry said mildly. "I do, actually. It's a good sport."

"Folk forget it was once life or death, don't they?" Sparrow took Jerry's sword from him. "Though actually most sailors barely knew one end of a sword from th'other. Some of the marines were all right. My young friend Will, the blacksmith," a shadow crossed his face, "now he could fight. Stuck to the rules, like yourself, but he could fight."

"As well as he made swords?" Jerry asked.

"Just about."

"Wow."

Sparrow grinned, suddenly, gold teeth glinting. "Now, I said I'd turn on the engine. I'll do that, and we'll get movin' towards the island."

"Good," said Simon under his breath.

With the engine chugging away we picked up speed in the calm, and soon the waves were parting under the _Anamaria_'s bow. Each of us had small tasks to do – letters to write, plans to make – and so the day passed, with Sparrow and Mil taking it in turns to look after the boat.

For some reason I could not get to sleep that night. The small porthole by my bunk was letting in a shaft of bright moonlight, and that together with the thoughts crowding my head was preventing sleep from coming. I lay awake for some time, listening to Simon's snoring from across the gangway and Toni's light snuffling above me, until I got fed up and decided to go and watch the sea by night.

As quietly as I could, I pulled on a jumper and climbed the steep steps to the deck, poking my head out and breathing in the sweet night air. It was a gorgeous evening, the moonlight casting a path along the water and the stars bright above us. I could hear Jack Sparrow whistling tunelessly to himself, and as I came out on deck properly I looked around for him.

That was when I screamed.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

----

I'm not the sort to scream. I'm not squeamish; who can be, when they work half the time digging up skeletons? I've handled dead bodies, I've brushed dust off skulls.

Yet that didn't prepare me for seeing a skeleton on its feet, tapping its fingers on the wheel of a boat and whistling out of tune.

So I screamed.

The skeleton looked over at me with a tinkling of beads, ceased its whistling, looped a rope over the wheel and came hurrying over to me. I backed away from the nightmare, clutching for a weapon. Anything would do …

"It's just me, Rebecca," the skeleton said, in the tones of Jack Sparrow. It spread its hands wide, and paused at a distance from me. "I told you I was cursed. It ain't my fault if you chose not to believe me, is it?"

I was backed up against the rope railing of the boat now. There was nowhere to run.

"I'm dreaming," I said, firmly.

"No love, you're not." The skeleton sounded truly sorry for the fact. It hesitated, and then reached out a bony hand. "C'mon."

I did not take the hand, but followed the skeleton across the deck, keeping at a safe distance. It hopped nimbly down the steps into the well that led to the cabin, which was shadowed from the moonlight – and turned, abruptly, into the flesh-and-blood shape of Jack Sparrow. His face showed concern; a serious, genuine expression.

"Look," he said. "I'm real, savvy? I'm not a dream, certainly ain't a bloody nightmare. I'm cursed, Rebecca." He pulled a chain from around his neck and held it up. "My Aztec gold."

Venturing closer, I peered at the coin. It certainly seemed to be one of those from the chest on the island. I reached out a shaking hand and touched Sparrow's wrist. He felt warm, and real, and solid.

"See?"

"That's your curse?" I said, sitting down on the steps as my legs threatened to give way underneath me.

"Part of it," returned Sparrow, slipping the coin back into the neck of his shirt. "Look, I know it's not pretty, but I don't want to leave _Ana_ alone too long. Will you come and talk to me if I go back to the helm?"

"Will you turn …"

"Bony?" he asked, with a hint of a leer. "Aye. Can you cope?"

I took a deep breath. "All right."

"Good lass." He sounded approving. I stood up to let him pass and watched as he moved from shadow into light; from solid into skeletal. Then I followed him to the wheel and sat down again, a good gap between us.

Jack Sparrow adjusted the course of the boat slightly, and then turned to look at me again. I could see now that although the detail of his features was gone – the tanned skin, the aquiline nose – his eyes were recognisable, and once I had realised that he was somehow less frightening.

"I should've told you not to come on deck at night," he said. "Is anyone else awake?"

"No, I don't think so." I wrapped my arms around my legs, and examined him properly now my fear was gone. I saw he was slightly more than just bones – rather disgustingly, bits of what looked like decomposing flesh hung off the skeleton too, along with most of Sparrow's clothes, his hair and jewellery. It was a decidedly odd look. "What does it feel like?" I asked, curious.

His mouth split in a rictus of a grin.

"Feel?" he said. "That's the problem, love. I don't feel. I can't feel. Not much, at any rate. Out here, at sea, I can feel the ship beneath my hands, but I can't feel the wind on my face. I can't taste. I don't get hungry." His dark eyes met mine. "I can't satisfy me lust. For anything. Women, rum, the sea." He shrugged. "And yet I've seen so much, met so many people, been to so many places in the past three cent'ries that …"

"It sounds horrible," I said. "You _chose_ that?"

"Like I said," Sparrow returned, "I had ten minutes of immortality and it went to my head."

I considered the thought of an empty forever, and shivered. "Couldn't you have taken it back?" I asked. "Broken the curse – however you break it?"

He took one hand off the wheel to gesture with it.

"I thought about it. I've even set sail towards the island, many a time. But somethin' always happens that makes me want to carry on. A chance for new stories."

"To perpetuate your own legend," I said, realising that this was the key to the man. He did not care, I think, what others thought of him – the main thing was that they did think of him.

"Oh, you're a smart one, aren't you?" the skeleton said. "The thing is, one important thing you have to remember –" he pointed a bony finger at me, "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow, savvy?" He paused. "Or, I used to be."

I stood up. It was cold on deck, and I wanted to be back in my warm sleeping bag. I rather thought Sparrow wanted to be alone with his boat, too.

"We'll have to write a report on what we find on the island," I said. "No better way of spreading the stories."

He said nothing, gazing into the darkness that surrounded us, and I went to bed.

In the morning Mil was steering the vessel, and Sparrow was nowhere to be seen. Once again I was first up, and I sat at the bow eating bread and jam wondering if the night had been a weird dream. Maybe the entire trip was a weird dream, and I'd wake up to find myself waist-deep in freezing cold water off the south coast of England.

If it was a dream, it was a dream that kept on going. The four of us spent some more time planning the investigation of the cave. Toni was to catalogue the various skeletons, marking their exact positions on our plans, whilst Jerry, Simon and I examined the rest of the treasure. There were geological examinations to be done too, and if we had time we wanted to explore the waters around the island for wrecks. It was going to be busy, but, we hoped, fruitful.

Sparrow emerged round about midday, tying his bandana around his blessedly corporeal head. He met my eyes with a very direct glance, nodded, and went to relieve Mil.

That day passed with work, and the next. Jack Sparrow announced on the fourth full day of our voyage that we would arrive at the Isla de Muerte in the morning of the day after. Simon breathed a heavy and obvious sigh of relief.

"Thank God," he said.

"Bored of my _Ana_?" Sparrow asked, with, I swear, a flutter of his eyelashes.

Simon sent him a disgusted look. "Yes. I hate being at sea. All this water. Rocking boat. Bad food."

"I'm hurt," said Sparrow, hand to his breast. "More to the point, so's _Anamaria_."

"It's a boat!" exclaimed Simon.

"But a good boat," Sparrow said, holding a finger up to accentuate his point. "And named after one of the best I ever sailed with."

"Who was she?" Toni asked, resting her chin in her hand.

Sparrow settled down, and I realised we were in for a tale. With much gesturing, he told us about a girl he had known – a fiery, spirited girl who, if Sparrow could be believed, was at once a brilliant sailor, a daredevil pirate and a great beauty. He regaled us with stories about this Anamaria for a good half hour, but ended abruptly, after telling us of a miraculous escape from some ship or other.

"What happened to her?" I asked.

"She died."

"How?" Jerry put in.

"Royal Navy's best hempen rope," said Sparrow. "Gallows Point in Port Royal. If I'd been there, I'd have told her to plead her belly …"

Simon looked up at this. "Like that, was it?"

"No, it was not," Sparrow retorted, quickly and sharply. "We were shipmates and friends, that was all. Saying you were with child was the only way for a lass to escape the noose."

"So why weren't you there?" Simon demanded.

"I was delayed," said Sparrow. "Gibbs and Ana and the others, they set off on a madcap harebrained scheme without me, and got 'emselves caught." He met my eyes. "It were after that I went back to Muerte."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"So was I, love, so was I."

Simon crossed his arms. "If she was a pirate, and was breaking the law, surely she deserved to hang?"

"Not all pirates are blackguards and murderers," said Sparrow, standing up. "Anamaria did not deserve that end." A small, gold-edged smile crossed his lips but left his eyes untouched. "Mebbe I did. But she didn't. I'll thank you not to insult her, Mr Murphy."

He graced Toni and myself with a slight bow, and nodded at Jerry, before turning and making his way back to the helm.

"Idiot," said Toni to Simon, and went below decks.

The rest of that day passed very quietly. When we awoke the following morning, there was a dark line on the horizon that quickly grew to become the conical shape of the Isla de Muerte. We had arrived.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

----

We were all on deck to watch as Jack Sparrow manoeuvred his vessel through the narrow channel between rocks that led to the island. He did it with ease, barely looking to either side, calling the odd order to Mil to tighten one rope or another. Once through, he brought the _Anamaria_ to a halt, under the shadow of the island's cliffs.

"Muerte," he said.

"Fantastic!" said Jerry.

Sparrow shot him a deeply expressive look, and went about making the boat tidy.

It took some time to load up the two small boats with our equipment. One was a motor launch, brought from our old yacht; the other was a little rowing boat, which Simon regarded with mild disdain.

"I've got a motor for it," said Sparrow, in response. "But it ain't that far to pull."

Simon went off to help Jerry with the launch.

Toni and I went with Sparrow in his rowing boat, perched on top of boxes whilst the pirate manned the oars. Mil was driving the motor launch, Jerry and Simon, and was going to return to the _Anamaria_ once he had dropped them and the kit off.

We all fell silent as Jack Sparrow pulled us into the cave. I had a torch out, and was shining it ahead of us into the darkness. There was no sound save for the rhythmic splash of the oars and occasional drips from the rocky roof.

Unloading the two boats and carrying the equipment to the cave took nearly as long as loading them. Eventually we waved goodbye to Mil and set off with the last of the stuff to begin the investigation.

Bypassing our boxes and other things piled at the cave entrance, Jack Sparrow stepped into the cavern with a wondering look in his eyes. He looked first at the chest of gold, piled high on its mound of treasure; and then at the other valuables littered around the place.

"Beautiful," he murmured.

"Let's get to work," Jerry said, to us, but I crossed to Sparrow.

"Well?" I asked, softly.

He turned to me, and I saw his eyes shining. "Bloody amazing, love." He grinned, and crossed to the chest, nimbly stepping from stone to stone across the lagoon. I followed him.

"You opened it," he said to me, a touch of accusation in his voice.

"To see what was inside," I said.

Sparrow trailed a hand across the surface of the coins. "Aye. I don't blame you. But you didn't take any of them?"

"No," I said, glad we hadn't.

"Good lass." He looked around at the others. "What's happened to this archaeology business, then?"

We set to, unpacking the equipment and beginning on our allotted areas.

Jack Sparrow wandered around whilst we worked, fiddling with bits of treasure and watching us. But he said nothing, until he had been regarding Toni bent over the single complete skeleton for about ten minutes.

Eventually, she looked up and round. "I can feel you watching me," she said, a little accusatory.

"Sorry."

"So, is this your friend?" Toni asked, sitting back on her heels and wiping a strand of dark hair from her eyes.

"Friend? No. Mutinous, murdering, treacherous bastard, yes. Barbossa." Jack Sparrow looked down at the skeleton with some disdain.

"Show us how he died?" Toni asked, standing up.

He regarded her for a moment, and then briskly nodded. "All right. Turn around, love. You be Barbossa. Stand there."

The rest of us stopped what we were doing to watch. Simon was just crossing to the stone chest, on his way to take Jerry a handheld computer, and Sparrow briskly ordered him to stop.

"You, Mr Murphy, can play the role of the blushing heroine. The lovely Elizabeth Swann. Daughter of the Gov'nor of Jamaica. Stand right there, and look worried." He fluttered long dark eyelashes at Simon, who grimaced but did as he was told.

Sparrow turned his attention to Jerry. "Jerry, mate, you get to be the hero. William Turner, blacksmith and all-round nice guy. There's a knife in that-there chest. Pick it up."

Jerry did so, holding the slender bone weapon carefully in his gloved hands.

Looking around, Sparrow nodded, satisfied. He took a step back.

"Now," he said, "Barbossa was there. He took out his pistol and pointed it at 'Lizabeth."

Toni tentatively held out her arm, fingers pointed, at Simon, and Sparrow nodded.

"Just like that. But, I drew mine and shot Barbossa before he could shoot the lass."

"And then Barbossa fell down, there?" Toni asked, stepping away from the skeleton.

Sparrow's eyes flicked to me, watching from a distance. "Yeah," he said, attention returning to Toni. "He fell."

"So what did Turner do?" Jerry said, bone knife in hand.

"Nothing," said Sparrow glibly. "Great bloke, young Will, but lacking in brain. Terribly dull. Now, don't let me stop you working." He waved a hand at the skeleton of Barbossa and stepped back, throwing me another look as he did so.

We worked hard for the rest of the day, pausing for sandwiches in the early afternoon. Jack Sparrow faded into the background, as much as someone as flamboyant as he could do, and did not disturb us. By the evening we had collected samples of bone and treasure from all corners of the cave, storing them in individual plastic bags in a box to take back to the ship.

It was dusk as we returned to the _Anamaria_, and I caught Sparrow glancing up at the cloudy sky with what looked like relief. We all went to bed early, exhausted from the thrill of the arrival on the island and the concentration of the first day's work.

For the rest of that week the _Anamaria_ lay at anchor off the Isla de Muerte. Each morning we were ferried to the cave, and spent the day in the semi-darkness digging through mounds of gold and jewels and tarnished silver. The piles had yielded a satisfying number of contemporary artefacts as well as pieces of jewellery; there were coins from all major trading nations of the late seventeenth century; buckles and baubles, plates and pictures.

Sparrow stayed with us for the second day, but after that said he'd got bored and needed to be out in the open. I think we were all quite glad. Although he mostly sat and watched us silently, he was nevertheless an intruding presence into our team. We had done a lot of digs and dives together, the four of us, and we had our own way of working.

That treasure was, without a doubt, one of the most valuable finds in the Caribbean ever. Gold is remarkably resilient, but it does suffer some damage immersed in water for centuries. The drier conditions of the cave were much kinder, and most of the pieces were in excellent condition. We tried to do some rough estimates of the monetary value, but kept reaching silly numbers and having to stop. Instead, we concentrated on the archaeological value, which was certainly important.

Eventually we had enough data to go back to Kingston and begin to really get to grips with it, and on the seventh day we packed up our stuff and prepared to leave. Mil and Sparrow brought the boats to fetch us, and we loaded them up. Before pushing off and heading back to the _Anamaria_, we returned to the cave for a last time to check we had not lost anything. It was dark, and we needed torches to really see where we were going.

"I guess we should close the chest," said Jerry, looking up at it.

Simon nodded, and picked his way towards the chest. Once there, he paused, and looked down at it.

"Seems a shame to leave it all here," he said, gazing down at the gold. The light of his torch was pointed at the coins, and it reflected up.

I felt Jack Sparrow shift next to me, and glancing at him I saw him watching Simon intently.

"What do you think?" Simon asked, lifting his eyes to us.

"I think we should leave it where it is," I said, remembering the skeleton Sparrow. "Come on, Simon."

"Becks, don't be such an old woman," Simon said.

I was about to run up there and physically drag Simon away, and preferably hit him hard in the process, but Sparrow moved before me.

"Leave the gold be, mate," he said, in the voice I now recognised as his persuasive one. "C'mon. Time to go."

"Will you stop lecturing?" said Simon, his voice rising.

That, I thought, was a little unfair as we'd barely seen Sparrow all week.

"Leave it be!" Sparrow repeated, beginning to cross to the chest. "Believe me, mate, you don't want to mess with that."

Simon let one hand rest on the gold. "I'm not your mate, Sparrow. Why?"

Sparrow was up there now, by the chest, and he raised a hand, gesticulating to try and push his point over. "It's bad luck. Really bad luck. Don't take that gold, Murphy."

"Stop me," said Simon, and he closed his hand around a gold coin and took it out of the chest.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Disclaimer: **see chapter 1_

----

Simon held up his coin, the beam of his torch reflecting a circle of gold on to the rocky walls of the cave. "No harm done," he said, looking pleased, and slipped the coin in his pocket.

Jack Sparrow looked furious, his fist clenched and his jaw tight, but as Simon came back towards us he made a visible effort to relax. He said nothing, merely leading the way back to the boats; and he said nothing as he rowed Toni and myself back to the ship.

Raising her eyebrows at me, Toni mouthed, "what's going on?" But I shook my head and followed Sparrow's example in keeping silent.

It was properly night – black, moonless night – by the time we had unloaded all the stuff, and Mil went straight to his bunk with a cheerful wave and a yawn. Simon sat in the cabin turning his gold coin in his fingers, and Sparrow watched him for a few moments before throwing his hands in the air with an exaggerated sigh and going up on deck. I wondered, briefly, whether to follow him but decided against it.

Toni brought us all mugs of hot chocolate, and sat down on the floor with her legs crossed.

"Well, we're done," she said.

"We've done the first bit," Jerry said. "Lots still to look at."

Simon flicked the coin in the air and caught it. "Did you put sugar in this, Tone?" he asked, peering at his drink.

"Just as usual," she said. "Why?"

"Doesn't taste of much, that's all." He frowned at the chocolate and shrugged. "Never mind. Tell you what, I'll be glad to get away from that mad sailor up there. Who's he to go telling us what we can and can't take?"

"There's something … something about him," said Jerry, slowly, "something I can't quite put my finger on. I was humouring him, a little, after the fight – but he didn't fight like a fencer. And those stories he tells, and the way he explained the skeleton in the cave. Even gave it a name. And sometimes there's something in his voice that makes me want to do what he says." He shrugged. "Reminds me of my headmaster at school, actually."

I burst out laughing. The idea of Jack Sparrow as a teacher was hysterically funny. Luckily, Toni saw it too and joined in, and we were all sniggering when the focus of the humour came down the stairs into the cabin.

"Glad you're havin' fun," he said. "Mr Murphy, there's something on deck I want you to see. You others, might as well follow."

"I'm fine, thanks." Simon did not look up.

Sparrow strode briskly across the cabin, took the mug of chocolate from Simon's hands, and then took his arm and forcibly dragged him back to the steps.

"Hey!" protested Simon, but he could not extricate himself from the pirate's grip.

We exchanged looks and followed them on deck.

Outside the night air was cool, and I wrapped my cardigan more closely around me. Sparrow had let go of Simon's arm, and was standing with his arms folded looking more severe than I'd ever seen him. Those dark eyes were fairly flashing with anger under the ever-present bandana. Simon's arms were folded too, and the two men faced each other.

"What?" Simon demanded. "What's so great you had to drag us all out here for?"

"Just wait," said Jack Sparrow. "The moon's comin' out."

Suddenly I understood, and as Toni and Jerry followed Simon's example and lifted their eyes upwards, I kept watching Simon.

And the moon came out. The clouds rolled aside, and the deck was bathed in silver light. The two men before us went from being human – Simon solid, a little paunchy, Sparrow slight and lean – to bone.

"So the moon …" Simon began, looking back at Sparrow and stopping in mid-sentence as he saw the skeletal apparition before him.

Toni screamed. Jerry said something indistinct that was probably a swear word.

"Shows us for what we really are," said Sparrow, gesturing with ivory fingers. Simon glanced down at himself, and his eyes in the skull's socket went wide.

Then he clattered to the deck in a pile of bones, in a dead faint.

"Well, that's int'resting," Jack Sparrow said. "Never seen that happen before."

"Never seen that happen before!" Jerry said, his voice rising on every syllable. "Never seen what, exactly?"

"A skeleton faint," Sparrow returned, in entirely reasonable tones. "Have you?"

Jerry's eyebrows shot up, and he snorted a short laugh. "I've never seen a skeleton do anything more than lie on the ground dead. That's what they normally do."

Standing up from bending over Simon, Sparrow turned sardonic eyes on us. "I'm cursed, mate. I told you that. Told the ladies that, soon as I met them."

"Cursed?" Toni managed, her voice a murmur.

"Cursed, love," Jack Sparrow confirmed. "As is your idiotic mate Simon, on account of how he wouldn't listen to me."

Jerry turned to me. "Becks, you don't seem surprised."

I shifted, and looked at the deck. "I knew. I came on deck last week, and …"

We were interrupted as Simon – or the pile of bones that was Simon – shifted and sat up. He rubbed his forehead with bony fingers and looked about him.

"Okay, what the hell happened?" he asked. "I am dreaming?"

"Unfortunately not, mate," said Sparrow, taking a seat on the cabin roof. "You've picked up a share in my curse, Murphy, and we now have a quandary."

"Take it off!" exclaimed Simon, springing to his feet, the rags of his clothes moving in the breeze. "Get rid of it!"

"It ain't as easy as that," Sparrow replied, examining the tips of his fingers. "See, if you want to break the curse, you need my help."

"So?"

"And I might not want to have the curse broken," said Sparrow.

We all looked at him, at the dreadlocks dangling over the skull-like face and the calm way he sat there.

"How?" I said, eventually. "Why? You said how you couldn't feel anything, not even your boat, not properly. How can you want to stay like this? Now's your chance, Mr Sparrow – get rid of the curse and help Simon too?"

He merely looked at me.

"Well?" asked Jerry. "Becks has a good point."

"Has it ever occurred to you," Sparrow said, "that I might not _want_ to feel? Me crew's dead. My ship's gone. What have I got?"

"You have a boat," Simon retorted.

"Aye, and she's a lovely one," agreed Sparrow. "But she's not the _Black Pearl_. There isn't a ship that could replace my _Pearl_. And most days, I'd rather not remember that. I don't want to get rid of this curse, savvy?"

"What does this mean?" asked Simon, desperately.

Sparrow folded skinny arms and shrugged. "Means you can't be killed. Means you can't taste. Means you'll live forever. Means you'll never appreciate a lass again. Hopefully it means next time someone tells you not to do something, you'll listen to them."

"Oh, God," Simon said, and he sounded desperate.

"Come on," I said, reaching out and taking his cold, hard hand. "Let's go below decks. You'll look right again, and we can sit down and think this through."

I towed him down the stairs, with Jerry and Toni following, and as we passed from moonlight into shadow Simon became Simon again. He looked awful, pale and frightened, and he was turning the cursed coin in his hand.

"Why didn't that … why didn't he say anything?" he asked, as soon as we were in the cabin.

"He did try," said Jerry, who was nearly as pale as Simon. "But none of us believed him."

"I believed he wasn't lying," I said. "But I couldn't believe the truth. It's just …"

"It's not possible," Toni put in. "Things like this don't happen."

"But it has," Jerry finished. We fell silent.

The next hour or so passed very awkwardly. Simon brooded over the coin, while the rest of us tried to do a little work. But it was difficult, and I think we were all conscious of the presence above us on deck of Jack Sparrow.

Eventually I gave up trying to make notes and went to find Sparrow.

He was sitting right at the bow of the boat, gazing out to sea, but he turned as I came up behind him.

"How's the idiot doing?" he asked.

"Not well," I said. "Can't you do something?"

"He can't say I didn't warn him," Sparrow said. "Can he?"

"No, but surely you must have realised that he'd never have believed the stories about the curse," I returned. "We're scientists, Mr Sparrow. We don't tend to believe in the supernatural."

"Captain," he said. "Or Jack. Can't stand being called Mr Sparrow."

"All right, Jack, then," I said. "But we don't believe in curses." I paused, and qualified that statement. "At least, we didn't, until now."

"I didn't believe in 'em either," Sparrow pointed out. "I went after that gold firmly believin' that the tales that it existed were true, but that the curse wasn't." He shrugged. "And I still believed that until I finally found the _Pearl _again, ten years later."

"So," I pressed, "can't you do anything?"

"Does he want me to break the curse?" Sparrow asked, looking directly at me. As before, his eyes deep in the skull of his face were very much human.

"I don't know," I said. "But I want you to break it for him. I know you and Simon don't get on. He doesn't like you."

"I don't like him much," Sparrow answered.

"But nevertheless," I went on, "he's a friend and a colleague, and though he can often be a total prat he's a decent man. You chose this. He didn't."

Sparrow said nothing, and looked away from me.

At that point I was not sure what to do. How long, or how much, to press Sparrow. It was easy to forget that despite his slurred speech and affected gestures, the man had been a clever and dangerous pirate once upon a time.

I stuck my hands in my pockets, and turned to go.

"Wait."

I paused.

"I must be daft," Jack Sparrow said, "but then I've always been accused of being so. I'll do it."

"Thank you," I said. "Really. Thank you."

He returned to watching the water. "I can always curse meself afterwards. Again. Go and get Murphy, and we'll do it rightaway."

I offered him a grateful smile, though he wasn't watching, and hurried below decks.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Disclaimer:** see chapter 1_

----

And so we were back in the cave. In the shadows, Simon and Sparrow appeared to be themselves again. Before leaving the boat, Sparrow had disappeared into his cabin and emerged dressed in full pirate finery – breeches, boots, linen shirt, a wide sash, a coat with a full skirt, and a broad leather sword belt slung over the top. He had put an ancient and battered tricorn hat over his red bandana too. He ought to have looked absurd, yet somehow he looked right.

"Seems appropriate, somehow," he said, in answer to our curious looks. "This is me. I've lived through a lot, but this is me at heart."

Now, in the cave, Sparrow led the way to the chest of cursed gold and paused just outside the shaft of moonlight that was illuminating it.

"Well," he said, "here we are. All you have to do is cut your hand, get a drop of blood on that coin, and throw it into the chest. I do the same. Hopefully, we both become uncursed and nothin' nasty happens to either of us."

"What might happen?" Simon looked petrified.

"To you? Nothing," said Sparrow. "You've been cursed a couple of hours. To me? Who knows? I could crumble into nothing, maybe. Three 'undred years, it's an unknown quantity."

I had not considered this option, and suddenly wondered whether I'd done the right thing in persuading Jack Sparrow to break the curse for Simon. My colleague had, after all, rather brought it on himself by being obstinate and foolhardy.

But it was too late. Sparrow brought out a dagger from somewhere, and held it out hilt-first to Simon.

"Here. All you need to do is cut yourself, drop o' blood on the coin, coin in chest. I do the same, and we're sorted."

Simon looked aghast at the dagger.

"Oh, for heaven's sakes!" Sparrow said. "Hold out your hand."

When Simon did not move, the pirate stepped forward and took our colleague's left hand in his. With one quick, decisive motion he cut Simon's palm, and closed it around the Aztec coin.

"Now throw it into the chest. Go on."

Simon looked at him, and then moved into the shaft of moonlight and tossed the coin into the chest. Sparrow nodded. "Good." He wiped the blade of the dagger on the end of his sash and cut his own hand.

We waited. Jack Sparrow stepped forward into the moonlight, the bloody coin between skeletal fingers. He moved the gold in the light, looking down at his bony limbs, and glanced up at us.

"If," he said, "for some reason this goes wrong, and I do crumble into nothing – do your best to pick some of me up and throw me into the sea, aye? I don't want to end up here."

"Okay," I said. He nodded, and dropped the coin into the chest.

It took a second or two to work. There was dead silence in the cave; neither Toni nor Jerry nor I breathed whilst we waited. And then, without any indication that it was going to happen, Sparrow and Simon regained their flesh and became human, the silver light casting a glow on their skin.

Simon held his hands out before him. "Oh," he said, in a tone of profound relief.

From a pocket Sparrow produced a handkerchief, and held it out. "For your cut," he said.

"I'll get a bandage when we're back on your boat," Simon returned, with a look of disdain at the grubby bit of material. Sparrow shrugged, and wrapped the handkerchief around his own bleeding hand. He was staring down at the gold in the chest, idly twirling the dagger with his right hand, a thoughtful expression on his face.

I went up to the mound, passing Simon as he went to join Jerry and Toni, still examining himself.

"Hi," I said.

Sparrow looked up from the treasure. "Happy?"

"Yes," I said, "thank you."

"It's pretty, ain't it?" he said, his eyes dropping back to the chest.

"Yes," I agreed. I watched him for a moment. "Are you going to …" I tailed off, unsure of how to phrase my question.

Jack Sparrow sent me one of his peculiarly direct looks, a small smile on his lips. His hand was trailing in the gold, and I waited for him to pick up a coin and announce it was time to go.

Instead, he picked up the end of his sash and cleaned the blade of his dagger, before tucking the knife away in the folds of material.

"I reckon we should close this chest up," he said. I must have gaped. He grinned. "I can always come back, love. But I've decided t' give mortality another go. Might be more fun now, in this mad world of technology and such."

"It is fun," I said. "People keep harking back to the good old days, but frankly I'd rather have the advantages we have now. You might find you enjoy it."

"I have been livin' it," Sparrow pointed out. "Just wonder if it'll be different, now." But his hand hovered over the treasure, his fingers flexing.

Jerry came across the stepping stones and climbed the mound. "Need some help with that lid?" he asked.

I threw him a grateful look. Casting one final glance into the chest, Sparrow nodded. "Aye. Thanks."

Together we heaved the heavy stone lid back on to the chest, pushing until the glint of gold was concealed under ancient Aztec carving.

Sparrow seemed to relax, and he wandered away from the chest and started picking through the rest of the cave's treasure. Completely disregarding the fact we had spent the previous week carefully examining the things in the cave, he casually sorted through piles of stuff, tossing pieces from side to side. When we left he was wearing a ring on each finger and had an elaborate necklace around his neck. Once again, instead of looking ridiculous he looked somehow right.

Back on board the _Anamaria_, Toni announced she was going to bed. Jerry agreed that was a good idea, and followed her into the cabin. I hung back; I wanted to speak to Sparrow before I too went to my bunk.

So did Simon. He stuck his hands in his pocket and looked awkward for a moment. Jack Sparrow, examining his loot, raised his eyebrows.

"Spit it out, mate," he said.

"I just … it's just …" Simon gave up, shifted his feet, and started again. "Thanks," he said. "I know I've not exactly been gracious about this whole thing."

"Far from it," agreed Sparrow, "but believe me I've met worse men. There's a bit of you, though, Murphy, that's wiser than even Rebecca there with all her anthropology. You don't trust me. That's a bright thing to do. I'm a liar and a thief, and I've built me life on being such. And so you didn't trust me when for once I was givin' good advice."

"I suppose that's it," Simon said. "But thanks, anyway." He nodded, and hurried below.

Sparrow laughed. "Poor blighter," he commented. "Now what did you want?"

"I wanted to say thanks, too," I said. "Not for breaking the curse." I fidgeted, and looked down at the deck. "Look … Jack … it's like this. I'm an anthropologist. I've spent my life trying to build images of people long dead – what their lives may have been like, what they might have looked like, how they might have talked. I've never got to meet someone who lived in the past before. It's been truly fascinating."

"Fascinating, was it?" said Sparrow.

"Really," I said. "And … well, if you can spare the time, I'd like to sit down and find out more, at some point. You were a pirate in the golden age of piracy. You must have met all the greats. Not to mention the centuries after. Will you?"

"All the greats," Jack Sparrow said, thoughtfully. "Funny, ain't it; I spent years tryin' to build up the legend of Captain Jack Sparrow, and all they remember is bloody Blackbeard and his firework fetish."

"Help me change that, then," I said, appealing to the man's vanity. He grinned.

"If I'm passing by, aye, I will."

"Good." I yawned. "Now I simply must go and get some sleep."

Sparrow sat down on the deck, rolling up his coat into a makeshift pillow before lying back. "I'm going to watch the stars. Sleep well, Miss Morrison."

"Rebecca," I said.

"Rebecca." He nodded at me, warmth in those brown eyes, and settled down. I went below and went straight to sleep.

We sailed back to Kingston slowly, without using the engine. Whenever he was awake, Jack Sparrow could be found steering his yacht with skilled, gentle hands – unless he was fixing something at the top of the mast, in which case Mil took over. The change in Sparrow was noticeable. He was livelier, more cheerful, and if possible even quicker with his tongue than before. On the first night of the voyage he opened a bottle of excellent dark rum and proceeded to out-drink the rest of us without there being any sign of the alcohol affecting him, apart from his speech becoming even more slurred than it usually was.

Now that we had all seen him under the effects of the curse, he told even more of his extraordinary stories. They were a mixture of adventure and history, narrated with flair and gusto and lots of wild gestures. Sparrow was a good storyteller, and Toni and I particularly enjoyed listening to him. I took notes throughout – one story that particularly sticks in my mind was an incredible tale of how Sparrow walked off with the riches of Nassau, all without killing a soul. He told us also of his piratical rivals, name-dropping like mad. Calico Jack, Blackbeard, Morgan, all appeared as footnotes to the escapades of Captain Jack Sparrow himself. There were other characters too: an upright and intelligent Commodore in the Royal Navy; the blacksmith William Turner and his lively wife; and as we progressed through the years a variety of civilians and sailors dropping in and out of Sparrow's life.

When Sparrow was not talking, we worked on collating our notes from the cave, indexing and cataloguing the evidence we had taken, ready to have the bits of bone and treasure and other artefacts shipped back to Britain.

After four days of sailing under a good wind, we arrived at Kingston and Mil and Sparrow moored the _Anamaria_ in her berth. While we unloaded equipment, evidence and notes, the two sailors tidied and cleaned the boat until all her ropes were in the right place, the sails were neatly furled and covered, and the planks and metalwork shone. The boat looked lovely, and I felt quite fond towards her as we moved on to loading our things into a truck Jerry had rented.

Mil came down the gangplank with his rucksack on his back, tucking an envelope in a pocket that was probably payment. He said a cheery goodbye to us, and wandered off towards the town.

Sparrow, once again in modern clothes, joined us on the shore. Jerry crossed to him with a chequebook in hand, and the two men talked for some minutes. Eventually I noticed Jerry tearing a cheque out of the book, and Sparrow pocketed it; but as Jerry came back to check that everything was loaded up he seemed happy about something.

"Bargain," he said to me. "Had to force the man to take more."

"He did pick up that necklace and so on," I pointed out. Jerry nodded.

"He did. He'll manage, I think." We exchanged smiles, and Jerry climbed into the truck to accompany our things back to our rented house.

A short distance away, Toni and Simon were talking to Sparrow. Simon was still keeping a safe distance from the pirate's waving hands and invasive body language, but he seemed more relaxed and even, as I got to the little group, was holding out his hand for the other man to shake.

"It's been educational," he said.

Sparrow took Simon's hand, and shook.

"It has indeed, mate," he agreed. "Just remember – if someone tells you to do somethin', do it – savvy?"

"Within reason," said Simon, but he was smiling. "See you, you mad pirate." He turned to us. "I'll see you two back at the house. Got stuff to do."

We said goodbye, and Simon wandered off.

Toni folded her arms around herself. "Well," she said, "I suppose we'd better be getting off too. It's … that is …" she blushed furiously, and finished in a rush. "I'm glad we met you."

"Likewise," said Sparrow in his most velvety voice, smiling charmingly at Toni. He delved in a pocket and brought out a small package wrapped in a bit of gaudy silk. "Memento." He passed it to Toni, who blushed further and stammered her thanks. Sparrow winked at me, and leant over to peck my colleague on the cheek.

Flustered, Toni said something about needing to be somewhere else and hurried away. Sparrow laughed.

"That was cruel," I said.

"Ah, no lady can resist me charms," he said.

"Not true," I returned, but I was only half telling the truth. I was, as I think he well knew, beguiled and charmed by Jack Sparrow – even if I didn't find him as "cute" as Toni still did. I dug in my bag and pulled out a scrap of paper I had prepared earlier, with my work address and phone number on it. "If you're ever passing by London," I told him, passing the scrap over, "call me. Please. I'm serious about wanting to talk more to you."

He took the paper, glanced at it and tucked it away somewhere.

"Now I have to be going," I said. "Happy sailing, Captain Sparrow."

Sparrow smiled, his gold teeth glinting. "Ta."

There did not seem to be anything else to say. I shouldered my bag and left him; when I looked around he had disappeared back on board the _Anamaria_.

That was the last time I saw Jack Sparrow. We came back to London and together, after exhaustive examination of the evidence and reviewing of our notes, wrote our report and had it published in the usual journals. There was much interest amongst our peers – people called the find extremely significant in our understanding of pirates.

But Sparrow didn't call, and at this time, some fourteen months since we left Jamaica, I have no idea where he is. I don't even know if he's alive; whether he returned to the Isla de Muerte to take another coin; or whether something else happened to him. But I'm still hoping that one day the phone will ring and there'll be that voice of smooth rum on the end of the line. Until then, this record of those weeks in the Caribbean will have to suffice.

_**Rebecca Morrison**  
Department of Anthropology  
University College London  
July 2004_


End file.
